


and wouldn't you love to love her?

by miehczyslaw



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/F, Introspection, quick!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-11-01 08:46:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17864171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miehczyslaw/pseuds/miehczyslaw
Summary: Catra is a knife.





	and wouldn't you love to love her?

Catra is a knife.                       

X

Adora _knows it_ better than anyone else— _secret_ — because she usually holds Catra— _secret secret_ — so she does not hurt others unnecessarily while pursuing their dreams of ambition, even if Adora cuts herself by accident with her edge since she does not know how to handle Catra completely. (Deep down Adora maybe likes to delineate her skin, like in a ritual, with the tip of her fingers, maybe she likes to feel Catra tremble not because of fear or anger under her touch of sun, and maybe she likes to marvel at the feeling of her blood dancing and shaking— _secret secret secret_.)

Just maybe...

X

It doesn’t matter that Catra ends up hurting her _with purpose_ once they grow up, when Adora realizes that everything is suddenly wrong—

nononono _it was always wrong_ , wasn’t it?           

(since there was a smaller catra that secretly cried at night with new bruises and new cuts every day, who had a heart a little too big where there was only room for adora)

—and Catra insists on clinging to the darkness to hide a wound deeper than the ones that belong to Adora’s new sword or the shadows that raised her (them).

“Really— Adora, of all things that have had wrecked me your absence is what has hurt me the most.”

X

So she shows her fangs and shows her claws and Adora's chest tightens, _and that_. That’s something new. Or not, not exactly. The feeling is familiar, different— not so unknown.

After all— Catra is a knife.

And Adora has always felt that she dies a little in her presence anyway.

In a past life and in a current life and in a life to come,

together together together together

(“...do you promise?”)

X

It doesn’t matter, seriously, and it doesn’t change anything either. It couldn’t change anything.

Because everyone loves She-ra but Catra only loves Adora. Because She-ra loves everyone but Adora only loves Catra.

And this is a universal fact, as the grass is green and the sky is blue. As Adora has ocean eyes that constantly burn in a desire to fight for justice and Catra hates the water and yet doesn’t stop staring at them for hours and directly and as a challenge, as contemplating the serious possibility of jumping in these, her eyes— pious and pretty and _so cruel_ — and be willing to drown in them if that means that Adora will look at her for a couple of seconds at least.

Adora could say: it’s not true. Adora could say: I see you too, I always did. Adora could say: I've never loved anyone but you.

X

Except that Catra shakes her head and gives her a smile without feeling, sharp and cold.

“So you saw _me_ but not _my pain_? Hey Adora, how much consideration on your part, thank you. I'm really touched.”

And the possibility is raw and ugly like a fresh wound.

She’d rather apologize first and bleed.

That’s why Adora doesn’t say anything and bites her tongue. That's why they fight, both of them.

Just maybe...

X

(she prefers to bite Catra's lips, tenderly.)

(she prefers to draw her to herself without any hesitation, without any responsibility on her shoulders, to entangle her hands-songs of bones in the strands of Catra’s brown hair, their hips very close, and kiss her hard, kiss her with an open mouth and closed eyes, kiss her as if she were suffocating in salt and the shrouded ghost of an “forgive me forgive me forgive—”)

X

It doesn’t matter, nonetheless.

It hurts now but it's fine, they'll be fine. Adora knows it, in her soul, in the stars. More important, Catra knows it too.

 _After all— Catra is a knife_.

And yet.

X

 _And yet_ she cuts everything and everyone except her affection for her.

(“You take care of me and I take care of you, okay?”)

So Adora hopes and hopes and hopes, and prays.

X

...she still hears the echo of two childish laughs, side by side.


End file.
